Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 140, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 853 & 854, September/October 2012
- Автор: Макдермид Вэл, Манфредо Лу
- Год: 2012
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 140, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 853 & 854, September/October 2012». Краткое содержание книги:
And the Citroën was very expensive, priced higher than a top-of-the-line Lincoln or Cadillac.
Combining its foreign nature, unique front-wheel-drive configuration, and modest styling with its steep purchase price, United States Citroën sales figures had been very low. In fact, without available automatic transmission or power steering, it was unlikely that upscale Americans would purchase such a vehicle in any meaningful quantities, even despite the fact that both Frank Sinatra and Lucille Ball had recently done so.
If the vehicle that had lurked behind the McAdams place had indeed transported the murderer, it was very possible that Gus could eventually identify that murderer by first identifying the vehicle itself.
Later, at the law offices of Andrew Saks, Gus gathered the notes he had compiled from working the telephone and entered Saks’s private office. He took a seat opposite the lawyer at the wide, polished desk.
“There are only two Citroën dealers in the whole country. One is out in Los Angeles. The other is at 300 Park Avenue, New York City. According to the sales manager at the New York office, since the cars were introduced in the U.S., they’ve only sold a couple hundred of ’em. A lot of those were shipped to buyers in the snow-belt areas. Apparently this here front-wheel-drive thing gives a vehicle much better traction in the snow. Second-largest sales volume is in L.A., thanks to a few celebrities settin’ a trend. For models matching the track widths we have here, only twenty-two have been sold in the New York metropolitan area.”
Saks nodded. “Did you arrange for a list of buyers to be sent to us?”
“The guy wouldn’t go for it. Said he’d have to check with his legal department first. He did tell me one thing, though: Nobody from Long Island has ever bought one from him.”
“And you really feel this can be important, Gus?” Saks asked.
“I do. It’s a long shot, sure, but to tell you the truth, it seemed a long shot Lily was innocent in this to start with. The way I see it now, this was a pretty sloppy job if she did do it. Hell, the police went straight to her. But if she didn’t do it, then what have we got? A clean shooting, no forensic evidence, no known motive or suspect, nothing. Now if McAdams was a crooked cop, like it seems, maybe a pro killed him. Somebody tied to that New York mob stuff. They probably don’t know or care that Lily lives out here. Somebody tracked McAdams down specifically to kill him.”
“That’s highly speculative, Gus.”
Gus nodded. “Okay. Then plead her guilty and try to cut a deal to keep her out of the gas chamber. I’ve got nothin’ else.”
Saks pondered it. “What do you need me to do?”
“Get me that list of buyers from the Citroën dealer in the city. Get a court order from Judge Maull if you have to. We go over the list, show it to Lily and the New York police, see if a name jumps out at anybody. At the least, this buys us some time. Maybe Maull will agree to a continuance on jury selection. Push the trial back some. Then, if this hunch of mine turns out wrong, we’ll still have time to look for another angle.”
Andrew Saks smiled. “Gus, maybe it’s you who should have been an attorney instead of your son. I like the way you think.”
He reached for his intercom button.
“Agnes,” he said to his secretary. “Please get me Judge Robert Basil Maull on the phone. It’s quite urgent.”
“So,” Gus said to Lily O’Rourke. “What I’m thinkin’ is, some pro comes out from the city. He drives around, cases the area. Probably at night and while it’s raining. Not many people notice that car he’s drivin’. He finds the fire lane running behind the McAdams place, sees it leads out to Route Eighty and that nice, quiet deserted area around the Indian reservation. So he goes back to McAdams’ place, parks on the side of the dirt lane next to that footpath through the woods. He knows no one has reason to be on that rutted lane at night, especially with all the rain. See, people drivin’ rear-wheel-drive cars more’n likely would be afraid of gettin’ stuck in the mud. But the killer — he’s got front drive, he’s not worried ’bout any mud. So he somehow gets into the house, maybe just knocks on the door and McAdams opens up. The killer shoves a gun in his face, walks him out to the Citroën, and shoots him. Then he drives to the Poospatuck Reservation. Once he gets there, he can’t afford to leave any tire tracks near the body, so he parks his car on the gravel roadway and drags McAdams’ body into the woods. The only tire tracks that are found are the unrelated ones in the dirt near the woods, and they just happen to match your Chevy. Along with a coupla million other cars.”
Lily smiled. “So you do believe me, eh, Gus?” Her grey eyes twinkled in the harsh lighting of the jail’s interview room.
Gus hesitated before responding. “Let’s call it givin’ you the benefit of reasonable doubt. Believe is kind of a strong word.”
“Well, hell, Gus, at my age, with these damn crow’s feet, I’ll take whatever I can get from a man, I guess.” She let the easiness of her tone fade when next she spoke. “So after he dumps the body, he disappears. Just a big coincidence that I get my tail caught up in it.”
“Yeah,” Gus said. “Maybe. But it seems to line up pretty good. The killer dumps the body, retraces his route back down that fire lane, a pitch-dark, deserted, muddy road through the woods, nice and private. He follows it out to the Sunrise Highway and drives right back to the city.”
“Okay,” Lily said. “What do you need me to look at?”
Gus opened the manila envelope he had placed on the table and extracted the single sheet of paper it held. He turned it to face her and slid it across the table.
“That’s a list of Citroën buyers in New York. Take a look at it. Tell me if a name strikes you.”
It only took a few seconds before Lily looked up, smiling, the twinkle back in her eye. She suddenly looked far younger than her fifty-nine years, Gus thought. Hell, she looked younger than him.
“Well, well,” she said happily. “If it isn’t Liam Behan. A brogue-prattling Irishman ex-cop drivin’ a sissy-ass French car. Imagine that?”
Gus Oliver raised his glass of Pabst Blue Ribbon in toast to Andrew Saks.
“Here’s to the system, Counselor,” he said. “It may not be perfect, but it’s the best one anybody’s come up with so far.”
Saks raised his own glass, smiling. “Yes, it is. And to Gus Oliver. Nice piece of work, Gus. Very nice.”
They sat in silence as Mabel Taylor placed The Green Lantern Tavern’s blue-plate dinner special before them: roast pork loin, gravy, mashed potatoes, and spinach. When she left, Gus spoke up.
“We got lucky.” He turned to the third man at the table, Central Islin Police Chief Bill Carters.
“See, Bill,” Gus said, “that guy Liam Behan. He was a partner of McAdams when they were both cops. Went way back to the twenties together. Matter of fact, the night McAdams shot that bouncer in The Alimony Prison, Behan was second in charge of the raiding party. Once the Suffolk PD investigators checked Behan out, they learned he and McAdams were suspected of working dozens of shady deals together. They poked around deeper and learned that when McAdams retired and left the city, rumor was he disappeared with money that was half Behan’s, proceeds from their illicit schemes. Judge Maull issued a search warrant, and the NYPD turned up blood traces in the trunk of Behan’s Citroën. Not much, but enough to get a type match to McAdams.”
Carters cut into his pork. “So Lily’s off the hook?”